


Quick Collection Of Poems I Wrote

by JustAHumanMachine



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Poems, That’s it it’s just a collection of poems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25822804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAHumanMachine/pseuds/JustAHumanMachine
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin. Just some poems.





	1. The Collector

I  
Am a collector.  
I collect things.  
In boxes  
And folders  
And drawers.  
They serve no purpose  
But to make a warmth rise in me  
As I rummage through them.  
I do not collect stamps.  
They serve a purpose -  
I use them to mark envelopes  
And send letters  
Far,  
Far  
Away  
To some old friend.  
I do not collect bugs or butterflies.  
That's just sad.  
They were much more beautiful alive  
Before someone killed them  
And pinned them up.  
They are beautiful still, of course,  
Beautiful but cruel.  
I do not collect cards.  
They are too perfect.  
It might be odd  
But I do not like a collection  
Where it is clear when you are done  
There is one exception:  
I have two Pokemon cards  
One I got from  
I forget where  
It has a weird tint to it  
I just like holding it and looking at it  
The drawing on it is nice.  
The second is  
A child's drawing  
I made it when I  
Was seven  
At the most  
A reproduction of the former  
Flawed  
Imperfect  
It makes me smile.  
I collect  
Rocks -  
Some are round and smooth  
Like eggs  
They glint in odd colors in the sun  
Veins of light running through  
The depths of red and gray stone  
Some are rough  
Jagged  
Broken  
With pebbles of many colors  
Scattered throughout their granite  
Just as beautiful.  
\- Quarters -  
State quarters, specifically.  
More than a hundred.  
I have at least a few  
From every state  
And one from Puerto Rico.  
I didn't know they made those.  
Using all these quarters  
I could probably buy something  
That wouldn't be worth the cost  
Of losing what I have built.  
\- Fragments of braided yarn -  
From a class in fifth grade.  
It was a project.  
Mine never turned out  
Quite like I wanted.  
The others still loved them.  
In time, I learned  
To love them too.  
\- Beads -  
Actually  
I don't  
I don't have a story for those.  
They're just scattered through my room  
And I don't have the heart  
To throw them out.  
They've been there for so long  
You start to get attached.  
\- Sketches on notebook paper -  
Surrounded by notes  
Math and English  
Classes where I probably  
Should have been paying attention.  
Instead I filled my pages  
With sketches of dragons  
Abstract chessboards  
Cartoon people  
I've built stories around  
Only pieces of which  
Show through in jokes  
And half finished drawings.  
\- Things that gain an odd beauty  
From simply me loving them.  
Some have value  
To other people.  
Some have worth  
Only to me,  
But that's all that matters, isn't it?  
These pieces,  
These fragments,  
These shards in a mosaic,  
Are broken  
Burnt  
Odd  
And often poorly made.  
But they are memories  
Thoughts  
Stories  
Parts of a strange and beautiful mind.  
I  
Am a collector.  
I don't know why  
I am what I am  
Or I do what I do.  
Perhaps I keep broken things  
Because nothing deserves to be lost.


	2. The Rain

Let the rain fall softly all around  
Sinking into cold unfeeling ground  
Listen to that strange and holy sound  
In that rhythm all that’s lost is found

There was once a lady that I knew  
Now she sinks inside the ocean blue  
Hear that whisper in the rain anew  
“One day, love, I will return to you”

There was once a man I met in war  
Sleeping in his grave forevermore  
He returns to settle that old score  
Don’t you see him grinning at your door

My old friend swears he does not blame me  
I still feel the weight of guilt and grief  
Judges wait that only you can see  
If you fall, will you at last be free?

Listen to the voices as they wane  
Hear them singing in sorrow and pain  
Tell their tales, it’s all they wish to gain  
“Free me from the rhythm and the rain.”


	3. Which Way Is Up

There is a weight that drags me down  
I don’t know what to do  
I don’t know how to struggle free  
For I don’t know what’s true  
I know I am not broken  
I’m just drowning in the sea  
Of ignorance and stubborn lies  
Everyone’s telling me

You fill the room with empty airs  
You’re not talking to me  
You speak to the idea of  
What you think I should be  
You don’t live inside my head  
Don’t say you understand  
If you knew how it feels to drown  
You’d help me get to land

You tell me I can’t trust myself  
And honest questions hurt  
Fill me with fear that every thought  
Is just the devil’s work  
Am I feeling honest guilt  
Or chains that drag me further down?  
Do you guide me toward the sun  
Or to the deep where I will drown?

I do not know which way is up  
I never learned that truth  
And I don’t know if I can trust  
The guidance of my youth  
My truths are tearing at themselves  
And every day’s a fight  
But I swear I will stay afloat  
And one day find the light.


	4. Small

Once I walked these halls with glee  
And every step was light and free  
Voices chattered truths I knew  
Things I was told to think were true  
I was a girl, now I’m a man  
Now I cannot say why I am  
And every room and every hall  
Is very dark and very small.

Dress me up with frills and bows  
Tell me later I will know  
Drag me to despair’s dark grave  
While promising my soul you’ll save  
Of love and hope you sing and pray  
And chain my mind to some display  
A perfect girl, a broken doll  
My stage and cage is cold and small.

Doubt is an old friend for me  
My greatest tool, my enemy  
Every word is fear and guilt  
Knives in my back with golden hilts  
Once I echoed every word  
Now I am found but am not heard  
Against the mindless cry and call  
My loudest shouts are still so small.

I tore the bows and ribbons down  
That girl must die or I would drown  
I know exactly what I am  
And yet to them it’s all a sham  
The child was just a hope and dream  
And yet for her, not me, they scream  
My thoughts and mind mean nought at all  
Because to them I’m still that small.

Am I to die for broken dreams?  
Would you wish me be damned?  
It took too long realize   
You don’t intend to understand  
You do not serve an honest truth  
It’s twisted by hate you hold to  
And puppet Gods hung on the wall  
To serve a faith that’s far too small.

I will hold to truth and hope  
And I can relearn faith  
If I once was made in love  
I know I can be saved  
I may never escape these thoughts  
Your shadows long creep up the wall  
But these battles will still be fought  
If you’re so big  
I won’t be small.


	5. The Rhythm And The Noise

The pencil’s weight against my hand  
The gentle evening light  
The music’s hum that blocks all sound  
The paper clean and bright  
The first stroke and graphite stain  
The words my mind employs  
The story boiling in my brain  
Is rhythm in the noise.

This is purpose and paradise  
Writing till my hands bleed  
Till I’m just a vessel for  
The stories carved in me  
That steady beat builds thoughts and feats  
The static just destroys  
My world, my mind’s a tapestry  
Of rhythm and of noise.

The howls, the screams unravel me  
The heartbeat is a voice  
That whispers “Hope cannot be crushed  
The future is your choice  
Tomorrow is built from dreams  
The beat today convoys  
This path you choose, just do not lose  
The rhythm in the noise.”


End file.
